Confessions of the Big Bad Wolf
by EasyButton
Summary: Brandon the wolf is tired of the media having a field day about "the incident with the Pigs", so he, along with the Narator, goes on a talk show to tell the real story.


**Hey! This is actually my first story on ffnet, though I have been reading stuff on here for a long time. This was a story that I wrote for an english class a few years ago. If you could review, that would be great. I would love some constructive criticism. Other that that, enjoy!**

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, three little pigs left home to make their fortune...

"Hold it, hold it," an angry wolf cried. "That is not what happened. We wolves are always being discriminated against! Just look what happened to Bobby and that poisonous brat in the red raincoat! Are you listening to me?"

_Well, you know, in a story, you are not really supposed to speak to the narrator. I am the narrator. You're not supposed to be speaking to me. Do you understand?_

"Of course, I know that!" The big bad wolf cried. "I'm just far too angry to care."

_So what are you going to do about it Mr. Hotshot?_

"Firstly, my name is Brandon."

_Brandon!?!_

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?" Brandon smiled showing all of his sharp pointy teeth.

_No. Not at all. Please feel free to go on. _

"Good," Brandon the wolf (who has extremely bad breath) stormed.

"Hey!"

_Sorry. But here: Have a mint. _

"Anyways, as I was saying," Brandon continued, "I'm going on a talk show to tell the world my story! And you're coming with." So saying, he grabbed my arm and we left.

Half an hour later, an extremely ugly wolf and the smart yet disgruntled narrator walked into the headquarters for Y.O.T.V. (Ye Old TV)

"Here we are," Brandon exclaimed. "I already booked reservations on the hit talk show,_ Shut Up and Listen to Me Whine"._

_Great._

"No, really it's going to be awesome! Come on." We walked into a gold plated lobby.

_Nice place._

"It sure is," Brandon agreed. We walked up to the receptionist.

_Hello, this ugly wolf wants to be on a talk show for some reason._

Ignoring Brandon's dirty looks at me, the receptionist drawled, "Yes, dahling. I remember you. You're the wolf that ran into trouble with pigs a few weeks back. And... aren't you The Narrator? What are you doing here, Your Majesty?"

"Whatever," Brandon growled, obviously upset by the receptionist's superior sense of taste. (She was now curtsying and kissing my hand.) "Can we just go now?"

"Of course, dahling. The set for S_hut Up and Listen to Me Whine_ is the third set right down the left hallway there." We thanked her and started walking.

The first set that we passed was for _News at Eight_. (Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep and doesn't know where to find them. If you have any information concerning their whereabouts please contact this emergency number...)

"Look at that!" Brendan cried excitedly. "It's the set for my all-time favorite crime show,_ Law of the Forest._"

_So it is. Look, Goldilocks is on trial for breaking and entering. Hey, Brandy..._

"Brandon!"

_Whatever . You were pretty rude to the receptionist back there. Are all wolves that rude, or are you the exception?_

"Are all narrators that annoying, or are you the exception?"

_You know, you really shouldn't treat me so badly. The narrator of a story has power, you know._

"Oh really? Prove it."

_Fine, I will. Ahem:_

Suddenly, in a puff of green smoke, Brandon the wolf was wearing a pink frilly apron.

"Hey!" Brandon yelled, waving away the dust. I narrowly dodged the frilly pink apron, as it whizzed passed my head. "That's not funny!"

_Yes, actually, it was. It was hysterical. And don't say I didn't warn you. I told you, narrators have power. Oh look, we're here. _

Brandon gulped. He opened the door and walked in. The set was a powder blue room with a small stage. On the stage, there were two overstuffed armchairs and a round coffee table. In front of that were a few rows of plastic chairs where the audience sat. A bunch of cameras were set up on the sides of the stage. Cameramen were running around like crazy but not really accomplishing anything.

_Well, this looks like a funfest._

Suddenly, a well-dressed fox walked up to the stage and said cheerfully "Hello and welcome back to my hit talk show,_ Shut Up and Listen to Me Whine._I'm your host, Doprah Windshield." Everyone in the audience began to clap and cheer.

"Today, we have a very special guest. His name is Brandon Wolfe, but most of you know him as the Big Bad Wolf!" Doprah announced.

"That's my cue," Brandon whispered nervously. He walked up to the stage and sat down in one of the overstuffed armchairs.

_Excuse me, Doprah. I know that, technically speaking, I don't converse with the characters. But El Smelly here already broke that rule back on page 1. So I would just like to say that he is not really all that great. Personally, I don't know why he's even on the show._

"Will you just shut up already!" Brandon yelled.

_OK, I will, but you won't like it, believe me._

"Much better. I'm terribly sorry, Doprah."

"You should be! Do you like what you've done?"

"No, what?"

"You told The Narrator to shut up. So no more descriptions; nothing. Just dialogue. Fix it, Wolf Boy, before my ratings go down!"

"How?"

_You have to apologize._

"Oh, back again, are you? Sheesh. Fine. Sorry."

_You don't __**sound**__ very sorry._

"Okay, how's this? Oh, great and wise Narrator. Please, I beg of you, accept this humble apology so that this story may go on."

_Much better. Go ahead._

"So," Doprah continued to press, "I understand that you say that the entire story of the pigs is a lie, Brandon?"

"No, not a lie. A misunderstanding, at best," Brandon replied.

"Then please," Doprah asked, "tell us the real story.

"Okay I will. It all started a few weeks ago..."

**...**

It was a sunny afternoon. The air was clean and crisp. The birds were happily singing.

I was stuck inside with a terrible cold. I don't mean a sneeze-sniffle kind of cold. I mean the feeling sick - constantly runny nose - sneezes like hurricanes - kind of cold. I was planning to spend a day lying in bed, watching TV and using up box after box of tissues, but that didn't work out. Around 10 in the morning, my sister, Brenda, called.

"Hi, Bro," She greeted me, "I hope that you finished making that cake for Bradley's party tomorrow."

Oh-oh. I'd totally forgotten that I was supposed to be baking a cake for my nephew's 10th birthday, since I was the only decent baker in the family.

"Uh... yeah Sis," I lied. "It's in the oven right now."

"Oh thank goodness," Brenda sighed in relief. "I was afraid that with your terrible cold, you'd forget all about it."

"Forget my favourite (and only) nephew's 10th birthday? You know me. I'd never do that." Man, I had to get this lying thing under control.

"Oh, thank you Branden. See you tomorrow!"

"See you," I measuredly replied. She hung up.

Ignoring my cold, I ran frantically into the kitchen. "Me and my big mouth," I groaned.

"_**Atchoo!**_

"Come on, come on," I muttered.

"Pan... check. Flower... check. Butter... check. Eggs... eggs... Where are the _eggs_?!" There seemed to be no eggs.

"_**Atchoo!**_" I sneezed, yet again.

I realized that I would need to go to the supermarket. Suddenly, I remembered that the stores were closed for a parade. It was the annual Be Kind to Small Forest Animals parade. Naturally, it was the biggest event of the year.

I decided that if I wanted to bake the cake, I would have to borrow some eggs from a neighbour. Living in the forest, I didn't have many neighbours, but I'd heard that three architect-brothers who didn't make it in the big city had built cottages not far from here. A walk would do me good, I decided. I went to go check it out.

"Time to go! _**Atchoo!**_"

After walking, sneezing, and covering the surrounding flora with green slime for about 10 minutes, I reached the first cottage. To my surprise, it was just a straw hut with some wooden beams supporting it and building supplies scattered around the not-so-well-kept yard. In front of that was a folding chair with a pig on it. On closer examination, I saw that the pig was fast asleep, a contented look on his fat face.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"What? What?" The pig groaned. "Oh, sorry. Ha, ha," he laughed in a nasal tone of voice that made my fur crawl. "You surprised me. Are you a tax collector?" he asked suspiciously. "I paid my bills this month, so if you are a tax collector, you have no business here. Really!"

Ignoring the suspicious, shifty eyes, I replied, "No, actually, I'm your neighbor."

"Oh, that's nice." The pig sounded bored and uninterested.

He got up from his chair, and for the first time, I got a good look at him. He was wearing food-stained overalls and had the flabby face of someone who pretended to work hard but didn't. Almost immediately, I decided that I didn't like him.

"I suppose you came here to talk about my great architectural achievements," the pig sneered.

"Actually..." I started.

"I don't like it when people kiss up, you know," interrupted the pig. "But for such an adoring fan, I, Percy Pig, will make an exception."

"What a pompous idiot!" I thought to myself. But I didn't say it out loud. I decided that I'd better go along with it for now. I had all day to bake the cake, after all.

"So, after we put in the first layer of straw," Percy the pig explained, "we added a layer of wood, and then a layer of brick, to maximize comfort. Of course, no, the people in the city didn't see that. They said it was a dumb idea! They said it was unsafe, uncomfortable and _ugly_! Well, they were wrong, I tell you! Wrong! _Wrong!_" His face was bright red and he was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Okay," I thought to myself, "_someone_ obviously has some issues." Out loud, though, I only said, "Well, I'm very sorry to hear that, Mr. Percy Pig, but I was wondering: Can I borrow half a dozen egg... **Atchoo! Atchoo! **_**Atchoooo!**_"

That last sneeze was like a hurricane. It bowled Percy right over and rammed into his partly finished straw house. I heard a "poof!" and then a "crash!", as the house came tumbling down.

"You lunatic!" Percy cried, looking at the pile of straw. "What have you done to my house, you crazy wolf!?!"

I tried to explain, but all that came out was sneezes. Percy hollered bloody murder (as well as some four letter words that probably shouldn't be repeated), before jumping into his car and speeding down the road, yelling something about the police.

I sighed. "Well, that went well," I thought to myself.

I decided that I'd better go on to the next house.

A couple of minutes away, I saw a house mostly covered in wooden planks, with a few tufts of straw sticking out. There was a pig sitting on the roof, holding a glass of lemonade and languidly hammering some nails into the knotty wood covering the roof. When he saw me approach, he climbed down the ladder and walked up. He was wearing slightly ruffled overalls and a worn red T-shirt. He had a friendly twinkle in his eye.

"Howdy neighbor," he smiled, extending a hoof. "My name is Peter Pig. I was just working on my house, but I'd gladly take a break. Won't you come in?"

I liked this guy. He seemed nice and easy going.

"I'd love to," I replied. "But I'm a bit busy at the moment. Actually, I just wanted to borr... **Atchoo! Atchoo! **_**Atchoo!**_"

This was even stronger than the last bout of sneezes. Peter Pig's whole house groaned, leaned inward and collapsed.

"Oh, I am so, so sorry!" I managed to choke out, between the sneezes.

"That's OK," Peter smiled. "I know you didn't do it on purpose."

I nodded. "After this - _**Atchoo!**_ - cold is gone, I'll help you rebuild it," I consoled him. "Before then, I don't think I'll be much help. Meanwhile, though, do you know where I can borrow half a dozen eggs?"

"Of course, my brother is sure to have them. Just follow me," Peter answered cheerfully.

After five minutes of walking, we reached a finished cottage. It was made of pretty red brick and had a quaint chimney on top. There was a well-kept lawn, and a pig. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, neatly tucked into brown corduroy pants. He was painting the door white.

"Meet my brother, Poncy," Peter told me. "Hey, Ponse!" He yelled out.

"How many times have I told you to call me Poncy? Not that ridiculous nickname!" Poncy yelled back, in a posh, polished – and obviously fake - British accent.

Poncy stepped forward. It amazed me to see that, even though he had just built his house, he did not have a speck of dirt on him.

"Greetings, my good fellow," Poncy address me. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sir Poncy Pig The Sixteenth. I see that you have been... _treated_ to my brother's company already."

"It was mutual, actually." I replied.

"More's the pity," Poncy snobbishly answered.

"Anyways," interrupted Peter, who was obviously used to his brother's attitude, "Brandon here has a very bad cold, so when he came to ask to borrow some eggs, he accidentally blew my house down with his sneezes."

"Percy's, too," I added apologetically.

"_**What!?!**_" Poncy hollered. "Don't you see what just happened? This wolf tried to destroy your property!"

Just then, I gave another big sneeze. It rocked the house, but this cottage was strong enough to stay in place.

"Hah! He tried to get me to! We must tell people about this... this... _outrage_! The media will have a field day."

I sneezed again.

"Out, out!" Poncy yelled, looking like he was about to have an apoplectic fit.

I was chased all the way back home. When I got there, panting, I opened the fridge to get a glass of water.

Right in the back of the fridge, I saw a carton of eggs.

**...**

"How sad!" cried Doprah, trying not to crack up.

"Anyways Brandon, maybe now you can you tell us about your difficult childhood?"

_Okay, okay, I get it, Stinky. Your life sucks. But this tale is just getting ridiculous. So I think it's time to cut to..._

**THE END**


End file.
